


Curtain

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: Treats [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Collar play, Curtains, D/s, Dirty Talk, Dom!Hawke, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Fun behind the curtain, Hand Jobs, Hawke Shares his Toys, Jealousy, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Marking, Multi, Relationship Negotiation, Resolved Jealousy, Rimming, Smut, Spanking, Sub!Anders, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, switch!Fenris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9186389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Fenris gets an idea for the triad's next get-together Anders will love. Not everything goes as planned, however...Or, when smut develops plot (but there's still lots of smut, don't worry!)





	1. Curtain

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mild AU where Anders keeps telling Hawke he’s dangerous, even after they get together in Act 2.  
> Also, you know, poly.  
> Of course, Varric is a self-professed liar, (and I _always_ tell the truth) so this might be exactly how it happened.

“So,” Fenris says, finger in his book, “did you see—has Anders touched your bed curtains before?”

Fenris is sprawling over his chair, knees over one arm, leaning against the other. His back is to the fireplace, feet toward Hawke. Hawke is stock-straight, elbows on chair arms, reading.

Hawke folds a page corner to close his book. Merrill called him a barbarian when she caught him ‘defacing a book.’ She made Fenris some nice bookmarks and told him not to pick up Hawke’s dirty habits. Fenris usually likes Hawke’s dirty habits, but he tucks a bookmark into Varric’s latest serial.

Hawke smirks when he realizes Fenris asked his question during a spicy chapter. “Weighing on your mind, is it?”

“Maybe a little.” Fenris squirms, bare feet wiggling. _Focus, Hawke._

“It _was_ hot,” Hawke admits. “He’s touched them… like furniture. Describe what you saw a couple nights ago.”

Fenris stares between Hawke’s chair and the empty one. “His face… That moment, he remembered every time he’s come to your bed.” He shivers, toes curling briefly.

“So,” says Hawke, grinning wickedly and setting his book aside, “what should we do?”

###

Anders is treating the week’s fourth sword wound when he glimpses Hawke. _Why’s he here?_ The friend wails and moves his patient, pulling Anders’ attention back. The stabbed mage is stoic, comforting her uninjured friend as the hasty bandages over her abdomen seep blood.

As the friend cries, “You could have died!” Justice rumbles, but Anders controls the spirit. Through effort of will, he doesn’t lash out, and he can still heal. His urge to avenge settles as bleeding stops, flesh knits together, and wailing dissolves into relieved tears.

_How much longer can I keep going?_

A name, said in the Warden-Commander’s voice: _Zathrian._ That train of thought is useless. _Unproductive._ Instead, he checks triage, but his eyes catch on Hawke again. He’s leaning against the back wall with that sexy smile and his eyes full of pride. Anders’ breath catches and he smiles back. Hawke nods once and leaves, still smiling.

_No missions today. What’s on his mind?_

For the rest of the day, Anders’ hands and magic are busy, but his thoughts keep tripping over that smile. He’s afraid to hope, and Justice criticizes his blurring focus. As light fades, fewer brave Dark Town and Anders steals a moment. A black mabari collar is sitting on the back table: the collar Anders was wearing when he returned to Hawke’s bed a week ago. Anders burns: anyone might have seen it, but could they guess its meaning?

### Surrender

“They’re waiting through here, Messere Anders.” Calls Bodhan’s voice from the main hall.

“See,” Hawke breathes, “I said he’d come.”

Fenris chuckles and sips his wine, a red from Orlais this time. Hawke’s nerves must be more obvious than he thinks. He smiles and stands as Bodhan shows Anders into his parley room.

“Anders! Good of you to join us,” Hawke booms.

“Sorry it took so long. Things ran late at the clinic.”

“Of course. You must be tired. Can I help with your armor?”

“I’ve got it, Hawke, but thank you.” Hawke suppresses a moue and consoles himself with watching Anders and pouring more wine.

Hawke gestures to Anders’ seat, a well-practiced host. “I was hoping you’d gotten my invitation.”

Anders gives a quirk to his mouth and takes his seat. “Yes, thank you.”

“Did you bring it?” Hawke asks as he sits again.

Anders digs out his collar, sets it on Hawke’s table. “Certainly. I wasn’t aware you needed it immediately.” Anders’ overblown formality makes Fenris smile.

“Mmm,” Hawke agrees. Then impulsively, “How’s the wine?”

Anders swirls his glass and sniffs at it. Fenris raises an eyebrow, and Hawke smirks at him. _You don’t know each other like I do._

“The nose contains basil and oranges.” Anders takes a sip. “Fruit and smoke. No finish, though. That’s disappointing.”

Fenris quirks his head and says, “Where the Fade did you learn to analyze wine?”

“Not the Fade.” Anders shrugs. “Nate–ah, Warden Nathaniel–taught me at Vigil’s Keep. I don’t waste the money now, but I can’t ask the same of you and Hawke.”

“You could ask. I would refuse.”

“You both would,” Anders takes a savoring sip. “So I won’t ask.”

“Huh,” Fenris nearly chuckles.

“So, Fenris, I hear”—

“Hawke, can we please skip some of the formalities?”

Hawke’s lip curls. “That didn’t take long.” He knew Fenris would crack, but not quite this quickly. _This should remind Anders that Fenris wants the sex, too._

“Hawke, it’s already absurd.”

“You haven’t heard of building anticipation?”

“I’ve known this was coming. I’d say anticipation is at a fever pitch.”

Hawke tosses a grin to Anders, who is controlling surprise.

“As you wish. We’ll jump right in. Where to start… Anders. Care to watch?”

Anders considers it with another glance at Fenris. “A little wouldn’t be bad.” He shrugs. “I’ll try it.”

“Impact play?”

“Yes please,” Anders says eagerly. “On my ass?”

“Of course. Your favorite. Textures?”

Anders hesitates before asking, “What do you mean by textures?”

“Not sandpaper or anything. More playing with sensations,” Hawke hedges.

“That seems… why negotiate that?”

Hawke shrugs. “You never know.”

Fenris chimes in. “Hawke is being discreet, which is ridiculous. I have problems with some textures, so he’s in the habit of checking.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s fine. Textures aren’t a problem for me.”

“It’s not ridiculous. I won’t out anyone.”

“On textures?” Fenris taunts.

“Fine. Next time I’ll defer to you, but I’m still not voicing your preferences.”

“Such a gentleman.” Fenris’ eyes are warm as he takes another sip. “I have one, if we’re over-checking: marking.” Fenris turns predatory eyes on Anders.

“You love that, don’t you?” Anders baits him.

“I really do,” Fenris admits, unruffled. “It looks good on you.” Fenris refills his glass, leaning sideways.

“Well?” Hawke prompts.

“What?” Anders tears his gaze from the bottle. “Oh, yes. I like it, too, um, nowhere visible.”

“All right, any requests?” Hawke loves watching these two rile up… over sex, at least.

Anders gulps his wine. “I was wondering… you mentioned last time… making me come first.”

“And using you for our purposes, all wrung out.” Hawke smiles. “I remember. You want that tonight?”

Anders shifts, setting his glass down again. “Yes. Yes, please.”

Hawke glances at Fenris’ flash of teeth. _That works out well._

“You smug…” Anders leaps up and points at each of them, smiling. “You’d planned on it!”

“Oh, Fade, yes!” Hawke laughs. “You think I was kidding?”

“It _was_ a good idea,” Fenris confirms.

Anders chuckles, leaning on the back of his chair, head hanging. Then he grabs his wine again and sits. “So you planned everything?”

“Some rehearsals, too,” Hawke admits. Something strange passes over Anders’ face. “Anders?”

“Hmm?” he says as it smoothes out.

“What… was that?” Hawke asks. Fenris sets his feet on the floor again. Anders glances between them.

“I’m trying,” he insists. “I’m trying not to be jealous. You’re good together, I see it. I shouldn’t want what I can’t have. I’m sorry. Ignore me.”

“No flaming chance,” Hawke says, and Fenris chuckles. “What do you think you can’t have?”

“I… can’t…” Anders looks at Fenris.

To Hawke’s surprise, Fenris looks at Hawke, refills their glasses, and heads for the door with a bow and the last of the bottle.

“Fenris, you ass, what are you doing? I’m fine!” Anders stands to stop him, and Fenris turns back.

“Anders, you need this. _Hawke_ needs this. I’ll be back.”

“I-I don’t”–

“Really?”

“I…” Anders falters. “…do.” Fenris turns for the door.

“Wait, Fen!” Hawke grabs the bookmarked book and crosses the room as Anders sits again. Hawke hands Fenris the book and kisses his cheek. “We’ll come get you soon.”

Fenris turns his soulful gazeTM on Hawke, whose mouth goes dry. “I’m grateful.” He steps out the door.

###

Bodhan stops mid-stride. “Messere Fenris?”

Fenris is sprawled halfway up the main stairs, reading, wine glass on one stair, bottle on another.

“Yes, Messere Bodhan?” If he didn’t know better, Bodhan’d think the elf is taunting him.

“Can I get you anything, Messere?” Bodhan queries.

“Thank you, but no. I’m sure you’re busy without worrying about me.”

Bodhan’s gracious smile turns genuine. “As you say, Messere.” He continues on his way.

###

Hawke takes a breath and returns to his chair.

Anders approaches Hawke, saying, “I know your rules, but…” He leans over and kisses Hawke. Hawke doesn’t like his men taking charge, but he likes this kiss. Maker, the taste of Anders: smokey red wine and the unique flavor of his lips. Subtle and rich, like cashews or almonds. Hawke reaches up to wrap a hand behind Anders’ head, but he catches the hand. “No. Later. You’re right about the parlor. I just… needed to check that-that _you_ thrill me, not just the sex.”

Hawke pulls Anders to straddle his lap, legs through the gaps under his chair’s arms. He asks, “And do I?”

“Yes,” Anders whispers over his shoulder.

“Maker, I missed you,” Hawke rumbles. “It’s been so long. This last week, these last three years… I do love Fenris, but I love you, too. I never stopped. You know, I tried at first, but you’d do something so brave…”

“Or stupid.”

“Fine line, matter of perspective really.” Hawke leans back to see Anders. His face is wet. “Hey! No no no, we’re together again. Please don’t—no… Go ahead and cry, but tell me why. Please.”

“I missed you, too, but I _am_ dangerous. I can’t make you happy.”

“You can’t make me… Anders.” Hawke wipes his tears. “I’m the happiest I’ve been since coming to Kirkwall. You’re part of that. And if you’re right, if you’re dangerous, well, you won’t be _less_ dangerous if we’re not together, will you?”

“You left because I’m…”

“I left because you told me to. Look. If it’s Justice, you know we can reach him together. You talk like I reached him alone, but it was you.”

“I’m so tired,” Anders whispers, laying his forehead against Hawke’s shoulder.

Hawke supports Anders’ back. “Rest. Set everything aside with us. We’ll take care of you tonight.” Anders sighs and rests, though tension still hums under his skin.

“So,” Hawke prompts after a bit. “What can’t you have?”

“That’s moot, isn’t it? I have it. I-I don’t know… How did Fenris walk out?”

“Fenris knows he has me. Like I hope I have you when you’re working.” Hawke remembers the woman with the wailing friend: his hands, his concentration, the lives he saves every day.

“You know you do,” Anders says low.

Hawke smiles. “I do now.”

“You distracted me, at the clinic,” Anders squirms on Hawke’s lap to demonstrate.

“What?!” Hawke protests, ignoring his stirring interest. “I didn’t interrupt!”

“I didn’t know why you came.”

“What else could it be?”

Anders says, “Maybe you wanted to hunt spiders, but I was too busy. Or you had indigestion, but you remembered the last packet of your mother’s curative tea. Or a friend was hurt, but my patients were worse, and I couldn’t work fast enough. Do you want the whole list? It includes kittens.”

“No, I’ve got it, thanks.” Hawke holds up a hand. “What should I do next time? Swing the collar?”

“No.” Anders considers. “Leave it in my bunk? Better: rattle the buckle.”

“The buckle?”

“It has a distinctive sound. I’d recognize it anywhere.”

“Is that so?”

Anders just hums. Hawke grins as they settle into another quiet snuggle.

Then Anders blurts, “How am I part of your happiness?”

Hawke considers. _Is there a true answer Anders will believe?_ He has to try.

“I like helping. You need so much.” Anders’ muscles clench and Hawke pulls him closer. “No, it’s a good thing! I love giving you whatever you need, you know that.” Hawke tugs Anders up to touch foreheads. “Because I’m doing it for _you_. You give yourself so generously. It’s incredible. You give… _everything_ you have. We might not always agree, but I admire you. I love you,” Hawke breathes.

“You admire me? Maker, Hawke, you have bad taste.” As they breathe together, Anders settles. “I love you, too.”

 _Can he even relax at his clinic? Templars or patients might invade without notice._ But that’s nothing Hawke can change now without blindsiding Fenris.

Hawke basks until Anders stirs, then says, “You still up for this?”

Anders smiles and sits back again. “Maker, yes. One of my favorite things is on the list tonight, and I’m curious about this ‘texture play’ you mentioned.”

Hawke smiles. “I hope you”—

“Are you done? I’m bored, even with the book.” Fenris barges in, ogles them. “What’s the rule about negotiation room uses?”

“It’s not that, you ass,” Anders says, twisting to watch him stride to his place.

Fenris smirks, “It looks like that.”

Hawke swats Anders lightly and helps him disentangle from the chair and his lap. He audits the plan. _There. Perfect._

“Fenris, you weren’t supposed to interrupt,” Hawke reproaches. “You’ll pay for that later.”

“I should hope so,” he says, settling into his chair and swirling his glass with anticipation. “Truthfully, if you want to blame anyone, blame Varric and his terribly written smut.”

“He writes smut well! I like it,” Anders insists.

“Maybe,” allows Fenris, “but I prefer the real thing.”

Anders tilts his head and frowns, saying, _Okay, fair._

 _Holy fuck we need to get upstairs._ Hawke takes a breath.

“Continuing our negotiation.” Hawke turns to Anders. “Since Fenris and I _have_ discussed the scene, my questions are for you. We can start with a puzzle for you, if you want to play. Fenris and I will be on the bed, and you won’t be allowed. We’ll ignore you, but I’ve left ways to get our attention. Which you pick will determine my response.”

“You’re expecting I’ll need punishment?” Anders smirks at Hawke, and his cock takes notice.

“I’m counting on it,” Hawke assures him.

“Sounds fun.”

“All right,” Hawke double-checks tonight’s plan. “I think we’ve covered everything outstanding. So, anything else to avoid?” Both shrug, so Hawke pushes. “Begging, rimming, penetration?”

Anders agrees, “I’m set,” as Fenris says, “All fine.” Hawke nods.

“Safewords?”

“Wiggams.”

“Jester.”

“And Ketojan.” Hawke stands to scoop the collar. Anders waits until Hawke is at his chair before he stands. “So damn good,” Hawke says, tracing where the collar will be with his fingers. Anders leans into the touch as his eyelids droop. Then Hawke puts the collar around his neck, and Anders bows his head so he can buckle it easily. Hawke’s fingers move automatically, checking the fit even with the metal buckle settled in its dent in the leather.

Hawke rumbles in Anders’ ear, “I love you.” He tucks the leather end into place, the last movement. Anders kneels on the tile, his hard lines relaxing into peaceful surrender. Finally resting. _Damn, he looks good._

 

### The Curtain

Anders paces the bedroom. Hawke and Fenris are naked on the bed, touching and kissing skin, gasping into mouths. Anders allows himself to watch, tucking unbound hair behind an ear. Frisson wars with lingering jealousy. Something niggles at Anders about the thick, soft bed curtains, but there’s another rush of pleasure as Fenris runs nails up Hawke’s thigh, ass, back. Hawke grunts and rolls on top to kiss him hard, teeth and tongues as Fenris returns the kiss full force. Anders had better move: Hawke promised he’ll come first tonight, but no reason to push his luck.

He looks for Hawke’s ‘ways to get their attention.’ Anders isn’t interested in snooping in wardrobes and trunks though it’s chilly with his robe locked away. No cushions tonight. There is the long desk in the corner, with its straight-backed chairs. _Bingo._ Anders traces fingers across his options as Fenris hums: sealed ink, a drying journal, a closed book, a stack of notes, pens in the inkstand. He doesn’t touch the open ink there: Hawke uses graduated ‘punishment,’ and Anders isn’t in the mood for humiliation or the cane tonight. He pushes the book to the edge of the desk. _It’s a start._ Anders shoves the book, and it lands with a slapping thunk on the tiles. _That got their attention._

Hawke is smug, then downright dangerous. A fire starts in Anders. _Blessed Fade, I’d give that man anything._ He burns for more, so he touches the notes loaded with Hawke’s messy scrawl, looks straight at him, and pushes the stack fluttering off the desk.

###

Disregarding Anders engrosses Fenris. He becomes hyper-responsive to Hawke’s touch. _What does Anders see now? Can he hear me? Can I get Hawke to react?_ Fenris flaunts Hawke, anticipates what’s next.

THUNK.

_Finally._

Anders is defiant. Hawke quivers against Fenris. Anders sets a hand on the stack of papers, and stares at Hawke as he pushes them off in a fanning spray. Hawke tenses and grunts softly, springs out of bed, and storms to Anders. Fenris checks his ass. _Excellent musculature._

“Bad pet! What’s gotten into you? You know better!” Hawke tramples the papers and drags Anders back by the collar’s ring.

At the bed, Anders caresses the curtain, arm stretched out. His face is sweet and hot: eyes closed, lips parted… letting go. _Does he know he’s touching it?_

Hawke flashes Fenris a grin, wraps a hand over Anders’ collar, and bends him over the mattress.

“On the bed, Pet,” Hawke commands. Anders crawls forward, Hawke’s hand still in place.

 _Kaffas, he looks so good._ Fenris traces his tattoos, remembering Anders’ skin between his teeth like salt and almonds with a subtle musk. _I think I’ll enjoy this._

Hawke releases Anders. “Stay face down, Pet. Accept your punishment.”

Anders squirms on the bed, skin rubbing sheets. Fenris needs little to be ready. _Fasta vass, look at that ass._ Irresistible since his first taste. Fenris imagines a dark bite mark under the skin _._ _Or better…_

Anders and Fenris watch Hawke stride over and unlock a cabinet. Hanging on the door are his series of paddles and the cane on its strap.

_He’d tried them on himself and offered the same to Fenris. “You’ll want to know what he’s feeling.”_

Fenris’ breath catches at the sudden memory.

Now Hawke picks the solid wooden paddle, a little wider than Hawke’s hand. Anders squirms again as Hawke returns to clamber up and loom over Anders. Fenris almost pities the mage, but surely he knows the concerned noises and pleading eyes turn Hawke on?

“Lift your ass, Pet, so I can spank you easily.”

 _Kaffas._ Anders lifts and wriggles, eyeing Hawke over his shoulder.

Hawke reprimands, “Puppy-eyes won’t save you, Pet.” He gently slides the paddle on the flesh where legs meet ass, the board rasping against skin. Anders whimpers again, pushing back. Hawke lifts the paddle and smacks Anders. Fenris jerks a little at the sound, remembering the sting, the way the impact traveled in a wave down his ass and across his balls, igniting every nerve. Anders cries out and grinds into the mattress.

“This won’t do. Fenris, pillow.” Fenris fumbles and tosses it to Hawke, and he tucks the thick pillow under Anders’ hips. As Hawke sets a rhythm, Anders presses into the pillow but his ass stays where Hawke wants. Anders gasps for breath.

After several minutes, Fenris sees the signs Hawke taught him. Truth be told, he’s seen it somewhere before, but never this fast: Anders’ eyes are unfocused. He moans but doesn’t claw the sheets after this hit. _Kaffas, he’s like clay._ Fenris counts five more strikes.

When Hawke lifts the paddle again, Fenris says, “Stop,” and moves to Anders’ other side.

“You think I’ve punished him enough?” Hawke’s script calls for anger, but it comes out with tender pride. Fenris glares, but Hawke winks, unrepentant.

“He’s learned his lesson.” Fenris scratches down Anders’ back, gentle over his reddened ass, then hard again to his shoulders.

“Hunnngh.” Anders shivers delightfully.

“See?” The trailing parallel marks fade too quickly. Hawke kisses him, a burst of smokey fruit and pleasure, and disappears with the paddle as Fenris collects Anders and poses him: kneeling wide, facing the corner post with its thick rope tying back the wool curtain. Hawke latches the cabinet.

“Steady.” Fenris holds Anders from behind, sliding arms around his chest as he fails to stay vertical. “I’ve got you. And Pet? Remember this pose for later.”

When he regains his balance, gripping, Fenris pulls him straighter and says, “You did it again, Pet. You touched the bed curtain.”

They are facing it, but Anders looks down, to the side, anywhere but the thick, red fabric. Fenris grabs his chin and pushes him to face the wool curtain.

How could one sound convey both contrition and hope? Yet Anders pulls it off, and his moaning whimper breaks something hard in Fenris. Rushing, like wings, fills his chest. Before he can analyze that, Hawke tugs the rope off the curtain. “Did you think we wouldn’t notice?” Hawke pulls the fabric: a cascade of red.

He drapes the fabric over his shoulders and pulls it with him onto the bed to press against Anders’ front. Anders releases Fenris and leans into Hawke, who pulls the curtain over Ander’s shoulders. A soft moan catches in his chest.

“Pet, don’t hold back. Give me all your sounds,” Hawke says. He strokes with the curtain, and Anders moans freely. “Good.”

While Fenris gets the oil, Hawke tangles one hand in Anders’ hair and shoves his tongue down his throat. Fenris smirks as he returns. _That wasn’t in the script, either._ Fenris grabs an edge and wraps the wool around them more securely. Anders gasps and moans into Hawke’s mouth. Fenris was _right_ about Anders and the curtain. Triumphant, he grabs handful of wool and rubs it over Anders’ bright red ass for another gasping moan.

Hawke presses Anders’ side to his chest, glazed eyes betraying Anders’ bliss. Fenris oils Hawke’s hand then pulls folds of curtain around them again.

“I’ve found our next toy, Fenris.” Anders gasps and rocks back as Hawke caresses down the crevice of his ass.

“Do you think he’ll be any fun?” Fenris smirks and kneels wide. He cradles his balls in one hand and tugs just the tip of his cock with the other. Pleasure surges through him, and it only takes a few tugs to get fully hard. Hawke nods, approving.

“He’ll be lots of fun once I get him ready.” Hawke moves under the curtain, and Anders squirms. “Fuck, that’s good. That feel good?”

“Aaaaaahn,” Anders confirms, beyond words. Fenris imagines the pressure, wonders whether Hawke does it differently for Anders.

Hawke continues moving as he says, “Now wider for Fenris’ cock.” Anders moans a little louder. Fenris watches him shake out breathless ah’s in response to Hawke’s hand.

“Kaffas, listen to his breath, Hawke. You’re making him desperate.”

“I like desperate. Imagine how you’ll come, Pet. Imagine how we’ll use you after.” Hawke’s motions under the curtain get rougher, and Anders presses forward into his other arm, panting. Hawke removes his fingers as he lets the curtain slide off their skin, leaving Anders gasping. Fenris feels a pang of jealousy: these wool curtains are just itchy.

“I want him pliable before I fuck him, Hawke,” Fenris says as he takes Anders back. “Pet, take the pose I gave you earlier.” He obeys, sliding down Fenris’ body to get his knees wide enough. “Good pet,” he moans in his ear. “Hold me; let go if you need a break.” Anders wraps his hands over Fenris’.

“Pliable is good,” says Hawke, eyes blown dark. Hawke sits cross-legged to rub handfuls of curtain against Anders. Fenris presses teeth against Anders’ shoulders, trails his short nails up and down his body. Anders doesn’t direct, just holds his hands over Fenris’. He uses Anders’ moans to find his most sensitive places: his inner thighs, nipples, and red ass. Anders is soon hard as granite and quivering.

“He’s so tense. Let’s loosen him up,” Hawke suggests as he kneels closer. Fenris touches Hawke’s ropey forearm as he wraps a slicked hand around Anders’ cock. Anders shakes violently, but he’s gripping Fenris tight now.

While Hawke strokes, Fenris presses Anders close, cock along the crease of his ass. He growls into his ear: “I feel your entire body. Every twitch and shudder racking you. We’ll hollow you out into a husk of pleasure. You’ve no thought of escape, do you Pet? Venhedis, I could wreck you, and you would _love_ it.”

Fenris continues growling the best dirt he can invent until Anders stops shaking and tenses, barely breathing. Then Hawke leans to Anders’ other ear, eyes dancing and feral. “I need you to come now, Pet,” he says as he changes the twist of his oiled hand on Anders’ cock.

That does it. Anders tilts his head back, supported by Fenris, moaning—shouting—into the canopy. Anders’ pleasure surges through Fenris, flows like water. He bites his shoulder, careful not to break skin. Anders shouts louder, jerks as Fenris’ teeth shift. As his cries die down, Fenris moans with lips against the new mark.

Anders is spent, and Fenris is… satisfied.

Hawke shoots him a knowing glance over Anders’ shoulder as he says, “He’s ready to be fucked.” A promise Hawke won’t let him avoid.

“Lay down, Pet.” Fenris drops Anders onto his back as aftershocks twitch through him. Hawke tosses the curtain over Anders’ chest, edges trailing in come as Fenris kneels between his knees. Anders’ glazed eyes track to Fenris, but he’s still unfocused. _So fucking far gone._ Fenris leans close to say, “I will fuck you so deep, so hard. I’ll use you up and spit you out. Remember my cock in your ass and Hawke’s balls in your mouth when you’re sore tomorrow.” Anders moans.

“Such a filthy mouth.” Hawke’s swat exhilarates Fenris. He hands the oil over as Fenris sits back again.

Hawke straddles Anders’ head and pulls his knees, lifting Anders’ still-red ass. Fenris oils his cock, admiring the view. Hawke growls, “Grab my legs, Pet,” and Anders obeys. “If you let go, we stop.” Anders grips his thighs tighter.

“Time to use your ass,” Fenris says and pushes the backs of Anders’ knees. One slow shift, and Anders is tight around his cock again. While Fenris pauses, Hawke slides his own knees apart until his balls muffle Anders’ strung-out moans. Fenris starts slow, hitting Anders’ sweet spot, just to fucking show he can. His pleasure builds, sharp sweet with a clear tone. As he picks up the pace, Hawke wraps a hand around his own cock and strokes once, leaving a trail of wet oil. Pre-come glistens on the tip. It’s close.

_If he comes now, it hits me in the face. Festis bei—_

Fenris closes his eyes, but that doesn’t exactly help: Anders is a collection of sweet edges lancing from his cock through his body, and Hawke’s breath hones the sensation. He entertains the thought of the next position, but no, he’s controlled.

Hawke lifts away from Anders’ mouth and says, “Tell us.” _How the void did he—_

“Fenris,” Anders instantly begs, “come—please—so close—want to—feel you.” His ragged cry pushes Fenris crashing off script.

“Venhedis!” Through the overwhelming pleasure, Fenris concentrates on _not_ clawing Anders’ legs bloody. “Kaffas!” Fenris fucks him hard and deep as promised, hitting that sweet spot and glowing lyrium-bright, and Anders cries out wordlessly, clutching Hawke to push into each slapping stroke.

Fenris regains awareness beyond their bodies: flickering light across sheets, headboard, curtains, walls. Closer, Hawke is laughing with his eyes.

“I tried to warn you.”

“If _you_ hadn’t… let him talk… I would have been… just fine.”

Hawke’s eyes continue to laugh.

“You did that… on purpose.”

“You can let go, now, Pet.”

Anders stretches, pleased, as Fenris releases his legs and slides out. “Change of plans, then?” Fenris says. Anders groans low and licks his parted lips.

Hawke ignores Anders’ wordless suggestion with, “I planned for this.”

Fenris feigns indignation. “No faith in my stamina?” His voice comes out thick and slow.

“Just a hope. Fuck, you’re both so wrung out.” Anders reaches for Hawke again. “Don’t distract me.” Hawke moves to one side; Anders reaches anyway. Fenris takes one, two grabs at his arm and pulls it back. Anders shoots him an evil look.

“Bad pet,” Fenris says, smirking over him.

Anders is ready to fight, even fucked as he is, but Hawke grabs the back of Anders’ neck. “Play nice, boys,” he says, looking Fenris in the eye. Fenris lets go of Anders’ arm, hand raised to show it’s empty. Anders relaxes into Hawke’s grip, eyes hooding as anger turns to lust.

 _It’s fortunate the templars don’t grab necks._ Fenris nearly laughs at the thought, drunk on afterglow, and it drives off Hawke’s reprimand. He sits on his heels. It shouldn’t take this much effort.

Hawke sits Anders up as he says, “Fenris, I want you on all fours so I can fuck your ass. Anders, you’ll rim me.”

Hawke releases Anders and piles the soiled curtain next to the empty bedpost. _I should help with that._ But it’s done.

“Anders, on the curtain. Touch yourself and _watch_ while I get Fenris ready.” Fenris tingles pleasantly as Hawke positions him facing the foot of the huge bed with plenty of room behind him. Hawke gets more oil. Anders is in place, but he looks miffed.

“Not the use you wanted, Pet? You think you can—hungh!” Hawke swats Fenris, sending another stinging jolt through his ass. “Ah.”

“None of that. Talk is for later.” He climbs onto the bed again and his oiled fingers—

Suddenly, Anders and the rest of the room fade. Fenris’ awareness narrows to Hawke’s fingers, thick slick toying with the muscles around Fenris’ entrance. It feels warm and very pleasant. He presses one finger inside slowly, the way he always does, sure and intense. Fenris hums.

“That’s what you like, isn’t it? I like it, too. _Fuck_ I’m ready for you.”

He imagines Hawke behind him, hard and ready and forcing himself to be patient for this.

“Keep it coming. I want more,” Fenris says. Hawke moves his finger in a slow circle, pressing the rings of muscle and driving the last of the languor from Fenris. This new arousal has none of the edges that sent him crashing into Anders. This is a warm bath, a luxury to savor. Fenris sighs and presses his hips back, then the second thick finger slides next to the first. As Hawke works him, Fenris becomes distracted—obsessed—with the idea of Hawke behind him, crashing over those same edges.

“How much do you want?” Hawke’s tone is teasing now, and his fingers are moving too slowly.

“I want it,” Fenris gasps as Hawke’s fingers slide and stretch, filling him with sensation. The idea becomes stronger: “Hawke I want you inside me.” The next stroke elicits a whimper.

“I said I’d make you pay. Can I make you beg?”

“Not-not that easily,” Fenris pants.

Hawke strokes and teases. He presses his cock against Fenris’ hip so he can feel its hard length twitch when Fenris writhes. His unoccupied hand grips the far shoulder over stinging tattoos. Finally, he trails his thumb around the sensitive opening, where it meets his questing fingers.

Fenris’ breath stutters. “Hawke I need you. Please Hawke I want it.”

He pumps harder: “What will you do for it?”

“Anything,” Fenris says, and he means it.

“Beg for it,” Hawke commands.

_Gladly._

“Please, Hawke, please fuck me. Kaffas, I need to feel you inside me, need to feel you come. Please.” This last ‘please’ is another whimper. He might hate that later but not now.

Hawke grunts and slides his fingers out, and Fenris gasps with need. That glorious pressure gone, he notices the bed, the papers scattered on the floor, Anders sliding soft wool over his body. A fantasy flashes to mind, fully formed.

“I _also_ want to watch Hawke fuck _you_ some night.”

Before Anders can react, Hawke grips his hips and slides his cock into Fenris, and he closes his eyes. The new pressure is smoother and deeper, dragging out a stuttering gasp. Hawke pauses for two heartbeats so Fenris gets used to the hellacious pressure. The control in Hawke’s hands and thighs hint how much he wants more. Fenris strangles a moan. Hawke pushes Fenris forward, sliding him off his cock; pulls him back, filling Fenris again. It feels so good.

Hawke leans over and grips the shoulder, and Fenris _needs_ the rush of Hawke coming inside him, the sounds he makes, the stutter of his hips.

“Tell him I’m ready with your filthy mouth,” Hawke growls low and close.

Fenris opens his eyes. “Get your fucking tongue on his ass, Pet.” Anders clambers to the head of the bed. Void take it, Hawke’s control slips when Anders’ tongue touches Hawke’s rim. “Festis bei—festis bei umo canavarum,” Fenris breathes.

He savors the build-up as Hawke drags faster, thrusts deeper, grunts lightly each stroke. When he hears Anders hum, Fenris twitches his ass tighter with Hawke fully buried. That grunt is louder, so Fenris repeats it next stroke. Hawke slips more. Fenris keeps it up, and Hawke shakes apart. He leans forward, forearm across Fenris’ shoulders to press him arms collapsing into the mattress. His groan is louder, rougher, and longer-lasting than Fenris hoped. Fenris twists to see Anders stark against the dark headboard. _Kaffas, what is he—_ Fenris suppresses a surge of affection. _No. Not for Anders._

Hawke quivers to a stop, and Anders flops next to them. After a few breaths, Fenris decides Hawke is too heavy to be a blanket.

“Ge’ off me.”

“Mmm, no, you’re comfy. You, too.” Hawke throws an arm over Anders, and he joins the struggle. Fenris isn’t sure what Hawke’s doing, but it’s annoying and… somewhat fun.

They run out of energy with Hawke sprawled face-down between them, an arm over each. After a pause, he flips to his back, and they dodge a clambering mess of limbs. Fenris tucks under Hawke’s arm, head resting on his shoulder. Anders’ head rests on the other shoulder, and Fenris jolts as their eyes meet.

“Kaffas,” Fenris says. He tangles Anders’ retreating hand in his own on Hawke’s chest, closes his eyes, and sighs. _I’ll confront that later._

“Everyone good? Anybody not get an orgasm? This is a lot to track,” Hawke says sleepily.

“Mmm,” Fenris replies and throws a leg over Hawke, bumping Anders, who tugs his hand, testing. Fenris refuses to open his eyes… and declines to let go.

 _Hawke takes me to strange places,_ Fenris thinks as he drifts off to sleep.

 

### Next Day

“Suck on a fireball!” Anders shouts, swinging his staff and delivering the promised spell.

Hawke catches his eye and smirks. Anders feels a ghost of an ache and remembers—

“Fenedhis!” Fenris shouts, and drives his blade deep into the flesh of—

 _Oh, for Andraste’s sake, Anders,_ he thinks, shaking himself. _You’ve been reading too many of Varric’s serials._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tevene swearing:  
> Fasta vass – a swear; ‘Screw/Fuck them all’ is one translation which I also read as ‘Fuck it’  
> Festis bei umo canavarum – ‘I am truly fucked’ is a perfect, unofficial, latin-based translation Officially, it’s ‘You will be the death of me,’ which works… on a small scale.  
> Kaffas – shit  
> Venhedis – another swear; ‘to the Void with you’ is one translation; Fenedhis is a similar (also not officially translated) Elven swear, which might be the equivalent of ‘crap’


	2. Breakfast

Hawke laughs. “I shit you not, that damn curtain fell on our _heads_ when we first pulled it down.”

They’re sprawled half-naked on the bed and munching tidbits from Orana’s breakfast tray. Anders has a bruise the shape of Fenris’ teeth on one shoulder, and Fenris’ hair is sticking out at odd angles, some of them straight up. One ugly bedpost is bare, its curtain cascading off the bed.

“No! It went so well last night!”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Fenris groans. “That’s how I learned wool curtains have a texture I can’t stand.”

“We rearranged our roles so he wouldn’t touch it much.”

“That’s really too bad,” Anders says coyly. “I enjoyed it.”

“I could _tell_.”

“Fenris guessed you might.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Anders’ hand pauses halfway across the tray.

Fenris chuckles. “Don’t expect _all_ my best ideas to be selfless, Mage.”

“Huh.” Anders grabs a few of his favorite olives.

“If I’d known it was so itchy, I might not have mentioned it,” Fenris muses.

“You would not!” Hawke objects.

“Oh, he might. Would you have gotten off from withholding it?”

“Interesting thought. You may be right,” Fenris jokes.

Anders smirks, gestures at Fenris for Hawke, and shrugs: _Exhibit A: Fenris is an asshole._

Exhibit A smiles subtly and says, “Hawke, what about the damn rings.”

“The rings? Sure, why not?” Hawke grabs a peach. “Mother had this bed installed. Maker’s breath, that was years ago.” Hawke runs a hand over his head. “Ends up it’s on rings on a hidden rail. The curtain, not the bed. To make it cascade properly, we had to remove the rings and tuck it back up. It was a pain to make it look halfway decent.”

Anders laughs. “I thought something was off, but I couldn’t ask. Which works out well: I liked the surprise.”

“You’re a master of understatement about sex, aren’t you?” Fenris accuses. “‘I liked the surprise.’ You were so far gone, I thought you would come twice.”

“I-I… You didn’t mind.”

Fenris pokes a slice of cucumber at Hawke. “Which reminds me. That was a dirty trick, letting Anders talk when I wasn’t supposed to come yet.” Anders grins.

“Fuckin’ worth it!” Hawke declares, grinning and throwing his hands high, one holding a half-eaten peach. “We can try that other stuff later!”

“But _then_ making me beg. You promised I’d pay, but I was double charged.” Fenris falls into thought. Anders and Hawke exchange smiles.

“You interrupted two people,” Hawke teases him, but Fenris is lost in his own head. Hawke prods anyway, “Same rate next time?”

“Venhedis, yes!” he says too quickly.

Anders tosses a bite of bread at Fenris. “Speaking of promises, what happened between ‘I want to protect you’ a week ago and ‘I’ll chew you up and spit you out’ last night?”

Fenris’ look gets predatory as he eats the bread and says, “That didn’t make it good for you?”

“Maker’s flaming Fade,” Anders mutters. He confesses, “Yeah, fine, I loved it. You have to agree it wasn’t exactly consistent, though.”

“Apparently if you come but I haven’t, I want to protect you… and also fuck you senseless.” Fenris’ eyes dance behind his fringe of hair. Hawke grins.

“Oh, fuck, well—as long as that first part didn’t disappear _entirely_ I suppose I can handle the second,” Anders concedes with a smile.

Hawke’s delighted laugh fills the room.

_This. This is all I need, right here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: Fenris is also going to be blindsided by a major attack of jealousy, probably later in this conversation. He thinks he's 'enlightened.' He's not.  
> Just saying. Anders is not the only mess here.  
> And who knows? Something will probably go wrong and Hawke will decide it's all his fault, when really there's nothing he could have done. They're all their own pretty messes.


	3. Care and Feeding of Rebel Apostates and Runaway Slaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Hawke is rubbish at predicting his boyfriends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut here, move along, nothing to see...

_This. This is all I need, right here._

Hawke ruins the moment himself. Because of course he does.

“All right,” he says as he finishes his peach and tosses the pit on an empty plate, “I have a few things to discuss.” He licks his fingers and wipes them on his pants.

“Sounds serious.” Anders searches the tray and grabs honey and bread.

Hawke grins. “Mostly not. Where to start?” He stretches and scratches his shoulder blade.

“Okay, Fenris, the thing last night when Anders disobeyed? He likes when I shut him down. You thought you were helping, but it interfered with that, uh, dynamic. That’s why I reprimanded you both.” Hawke shrugs. “I thought you should know so we can decide how to use it.”

“You couldn’t have warned me?” Fenris tosses whatever’s in his hand onto another empty plate. A half-eaten pastry? 

“Ah, no, sorry.” Hawke scratches his lower back. “I’d sort of… forgotten it until Anders started last night.” He shrugs sheepishly to Anders.

He shrugs back, “I’d forgotten, too, until I realized I wanted it.”

Fenris raises his voice: “You should have fucking told me then.”

“Hey!” _What’s going on?_ “Anders _couldn’t_ , and actually neither could I without breaking the scene. I thought we’d try it, and if it didn’t work, we’d talk. Which we are.”

“That’s no excuse!”

“Fenris. Fen? I’m sorry, but what else could we have done?”

Fenris spins on Anders. “You shouldn’t have even—whatever you did to start it. It should never have happened!” His tattoos glimmer and fade.

Anders opens his mouth to fire back, but Hawke gets there first.

“Fenris! You seem really frikkin angry, but do _not_ talk to Anders that way. Ever. Listen to yourself. ‘It should never have happened’? No one got hurt. It wasn’t a problem before this conversation,” Hawke points downward then at Fenris, “which I started for you, to _include_ you.”

“Don’t placate me.” Fenris launches himself off the bed, bumping the tray and clattering the dishes. He paces until he’s even with the foot of the bed and spins to stride till he’s almost touching the wardrobe, then back. His arms are wrapped around his bare chest, hands on shoulder blades. It reminds Hawke so much of Carver it hurts.

“Right now, Fenris, I need you to take a few frikkin minutes to breathe and brood until you can _tell us_ what’s wrong, because a new sex game doesn’t normally piss you off. By the Void, a new sex _partner_ didn’t piss you off!” Hawke throws his hands up.

Fenris suddenly pulls his hair, groaning and collapsing into a crouched ball on the tiles. “Oh! Oh, fuck. This is how it feels. I thought I would never get jealous. I was wrong.”

 _Jealousy, again. Shit._ Hawke gets up slowly. “How can I help? Okay if I touch you?”

“Yes. Usual rules. Thank you for asking.” Fenris relaxes incrementally, even before Hawke crouches and wraps his arms around him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know, I just—oh, kaffas, it does. It really hurts.”

Anders leans so he can see them. “Fenris, can I help?”

“Not yet, Anders. There’s part of me… I don’t want you in range.” Fenris curls tighter. “Aargh!”

Hawke pulls him closer. “Care to talk about it?”

“I’d better, or I might wallow for a while.” But Fenris hesitates.

“Do I need to…?”

“No!” Hawke and Fenris chorus at Anders. Fenris goes on: “You have every right to hear this. It’s just… hard.” Finally, he stops shaking, stands, and takes his seat at the tray again. Hawke bounces and crawls over the bed and sits between them, across from his usual spot.

“This is cozier.” Hawke earns a return smile from Fenris.

“Thank you.”

“Say what you need to say.”

He takes a breath and says, “I didn’t think I could get jealous, because I enjoy what we do, enjoy Anders’ part in it, even watching you two. But I was telling myself it was only sex. I _know_ you love Anders, Hawke, but knowing isn’t hearing it. Your easy rapport, your _affection_ for each other, I wasn’t expecting. I guess you kept it behind closed doors before, years ago.” Fenris shrugs, anger drained.

“We do,” Hawke puts a hand on his back, “but we want you with us. You’re… behind that closed door, now.”

“Anders?” Fenris asks.

“I… Fade, Fenris, I’m here aren’t I?”

“You said it yourself. You’re here for Hawke. That’s fine; I’m here for Hawke, too. But now you’re showing me that relationship. Is that okay?”

“Fenris, can I touch you now? It’s easier to say…”

Fenris twitches back. “No. I mean, yes. Wait. The tattoos did weird shit to my nerves. Or my muscles, I don’t know. If you touch me, press hard and tell me where you will touch.” Fenris shrugs when he looks into Anders’ concerned eyes. “Light touches spread like fire.”

“No!” Anders looks horrified. “Last night, did I touch too lightly? I was distracted, but I remember—yes!—my hands over yours.” He’s looking at the lyrium lines on Fenris’ hands, one tracing each finger. “I’m sorry.”

Fenris coughs and smiles into his hand. “No, um. No, that was fine. It was… perhaps more intense than you intended. Not a problem last night. Besides, you were soon gripping tight.”

“Was I? I thought I kept the same grip.” Anders looks at his own hand.

“He’s flattering us, Hawke.” Fenris is smiling. “Yes, last night was fine. If you need forgiveness, you have it. You can try again now.”

Hawke scoots back to give Anders room to get by.

“Is hugging easiest?” Anders twists to wrap his arms around Fenris, both legs to one side. Sweet Maker, but it’s awkward. Neither knows where to put their arms. “I’ll share us with you. I want to try,” Anders says, and they rock side to side.

“Good gravy, are you sure you fucked last night?” Hawke says, but he’s smiling.

They chuckle and mercifully release the hug. Anders props his arms on his bent knees between Fenris and Hawke.

Hawke pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, that wasn’t supposed to be an issue, just something, I don’t know, fun to try again later.”

Fenris laughs. “Maybe whoever Anders is challenging shuts him down?”

“Sounds like a good rule, unless we negotiate something different.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Anders says. “You have issues for us, don’t you?” Anders is teasing.

“I have an issue for you.” Hawke doesn’t match the smile.

Anders smirks at Fenris. “I’d better move back here, just in case.”

Fenris smirks back, raising an eyebrow. “Good plan.”

“I swear you two were sent to Thedas to torment me. Just when we’re doomed, you pull stuff like that.”

“Anders, is he avoiding something?”

“Definitely.” Anders settles back at his place. “I can probably help, though.”

There’s a pause while Hawke realizes what he said and waits for more.

“I was… jealous, too,” Anders continues, “when you announced you were fucking Fenris last night.” The nearly demolished tray holds his attention.

“I deserve a good fucking once in a while.” Fenris’ tone is both defensive and playful. “And _you_ were in no condition: I rode you hard.”

“It’s what I’m there for, especially with what you promised…”

Hawke shakes his head. “I promised use, not abuse. Fenris fucked you hard enough you needed a break. I was taking care of you, not abandoning you.”

“No, I…”

“I won’t broker an argument on this. You wanted more than you could handle. I get it, but we never negotiated… You needed a reminder, not _damage._ ”

“Are you forgetting I’m a healer?”

“Venhedis! Hawke, that’s got potential.”

“I wanted you to… have that reminder.” _It’s frikkin’ hot._

“I can heal part-way,” Anders says coyly.

Hawke pouts. “It’s not the same.”

“Definitely not,” Fenris agrees, “but Hawke, consider…”

“Wait. You’d be okay with magic in bed?”

Fenris hesitates. “I could cope.”

“Given the right motivation, is that it?”

He shifts on the bed. “Yes.”

“Anders has an electricity thing, too, did Isabela mention?”

“Hey! I’m sitting right here! No collar.”

“What? I enjoy the electricity thing. I clearly made assumptions about magic that might not apply.”

Anders rolls his eyes.

Fenris’ eyebrows pinch together. “Let me… Let me think. Can we discuss it more next time?”

Anders sighs. “Okay by me.” He grabs a pastry bite to nibble on. “And I… see what you’re saying, Hawke.”

“You can safe-word if you ever doubt I love you.”

“I…what?”

“What we do is fun, but I’d ruin it rather than let you believe a lie like that.” Hawke turns to Fenris. “Either of you.”

“Hawke,” Anders whispers. “I mean, maybe it’s obvious, but… I fucking love you.”

Fenris, meanwhile, is staring at him intensely. “Hawke, you idiot.”

“What?” he asks, fake-affronted.

“I’m too sore to jump your bones, so… do you have more issues to stir up?”

“Fresh out of issues.” Hawke shrugs, grinning. “But yeah, one more thing.” Hawke clambers off the bed and grabs his belt knife from among his clothes to start a tear in the curtain. “Don’t look so horrified, Anders.” He finishes the tear and takes the curtain scrap over to him. “This is for you.” He wraps the wide strip of fabric around Anders’ lower torso several times, tucking in the ends tightly. “What do you think? Too distracting?”

Anders considers, smiling. “Not distracting, comforting.” He shifts, and the fabric slides. “It reminds me of here. Of you.” The glance Anders shoots Fenris _might_ include both of them in that ‘you,’ or Hawke might be grabbing at straws.

Hawke grins. “Perfect. It’ll even fit under your clothes so no one can see it.”

“Yeah.” Anders smiles. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter exists because I don't like loose ends.   
> As I wrote the sex scene for Curtain, I figured out what was going on in Anders’ head when he got so mad at Fenris. Basically, to him, Fenris got in the way of rekindling the rapport he used to have with Hawke. Hawke would see what was going on, but Fenris was too distracted to figure it out. Between that and Hawke seeming to choose Fenris over him, yeah, he got jealous again. I hope Hawke's hidden favor will help him remember that he's loved and cared for.   
> While I was taking a break from editing, I happened across a series titled “Jealous Fenris is Pretty Hot.” (I haven't read it yet, but I can put it in my bookmarks once I do, if you're interested.) The first part of this chapter stands in stark contrast to that idea. My jealous Fenris is more… an unstable, awkward mess. I mean, maybe that does it for you. Whatever floats your boat.


	4. The Key?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke discuss the danger to Anders of living in Darktown.

A day later, Hawke swings by Fenris’ mansion. He knocks but doubts Fenris can hear. He strides through the main hall where Fenris has dumped a fresh body for Varric’s contacts to dispose of; no doubt another thief tempted by the ‘abandoned’ mansion. Hawke wishes Fenris had accepted his offer to move in.

Now more than ever.

Fenris is on a bench in front of the fire, reading the book he’d borrowed from Hawke. When Hawke taps on the door, Fenris smirks.

“You’ve got something to ask me, don’t you?”

“How could you tell?” Hawke smiles and settles onto a nearby bench.

“You get wrinkles across your brow when you’re unsure of how something will play out. You also hesitate at the door when you visit me with a purpose." Fenris smiles. "What do you need?”

“I… have a pretty big question, actually. It’s something you may not be ready for. It’s okay if you need time to think. I don’t want to…”

“Hawke, just spit it out.”

“Okay.” He runs both hands over his head. “I’ve just been to see Anders. It ends up he has… troubles, with templar raids. More than I thought.” Hawke leans his elbows on his thighs and stares at his folded hands.

“Kaffas. Hawke, if they _catch_ him working with the Mage Underground, even you can’t protect him.”

“Fenris, I keep remembering Karl and…” Hawke’s voice catches. “I know you don’t agree with his cause, but I can’t risk losing him like that. Unfortunately, the solution I’ve thought of complicates your relationship with him.”

“What solution?” Fenris asks warily.

“Remember we took my estate back from slavers?” Hawke gestures in the general direction of his place.

Fenris nods.

“We got in through the basement. The entrance is _right next to_ Anders’ clinic. Fenris, I could give him the key to that entrance and ask him to stay with us.”

“I live here, Hawke. He’d be moving in with _you_.” Fenris keeps still, watching Hawke, gathering clues. 

“You’re always visiting, and you’re my boyfriend, too. You should have a say. And your invitation stands.”

“Hawke, Anders should not be Tranquil, but that’s a major change for us. Can we do anything less drastic?” Fenris watches Hawke’s fingers lacing and unlacing as he shrugs. “Can I have time to think?”

Hawke puts his palms on his knees and looks up. “Of course. I said you could.”

Fenris presses his thumb against his forehead. “How soon is the next raid?”

“Anders mentioned one happened while he was staying with us, and they keep busy—they don’t raid again for a while. We have a week, at least.” Hawke shakes his head, trying and failing not to think about the freshly-caught mages who are currently keeping the templars busy.

“I must admit," Hawke says, smiling ruefully, "I’ve been toying with the idea of giving him the key just because Anders gets no real privacy in his clinic. But this… this makes it urgent.”

“Can’t Cullen give you warning?” Fenris asks and glances at the wall behind Hawke.

“Cullen’s vagueness makes me wonder if these raids are all official,” Hawke says, rubbing his hands on his knees, frustrated. “Fresh young templars getting drunk and ‘showing initiative.’ Meredith loves that shit.”

Fenris’ eyes wander to the fire. “Look, Hawke, Meredith is trying, but...”

Hawke waits.  

Fenris looks back at Hawke. “Her methods are wanting.”

Hawke grimaces. “Agreed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are air. Comments are food. These are what my writing subsist on. So, um, please leave some if you want?


End file.
